Sweet Child of Mine
by Monella
Summary: Fill for these two prompts: Will realises he's pregnant. Right before he tells Hannibal the other is found out and arrested. Deciding to never tell Hannibal about the child and the child never about Hannibal he tries to make a new start. & When Hannibal goes after Will his plans are shattered by the picture of a little girl who looks dangerously like his long since dead sister.


**Full Summary: **She was born on the thirty-first of May, early but beautiful, tiny fingers moving on Will's cheek when he finally got to hold her and sleepy eyes barely open as she tried to work out what all the noises suddenly around her were.

And ironically it was in that moment that for the first time in years Will wept, uncertain if it was due to the joy of not being alone for the first time since walking away from his past or if it was simply because looking back up at him were the eyes he had truly wished he'd never see again anywhere but in his nightmares.

He swore to himself that Hannibal would never find out about their daughter, never having gotten a chance to tell the man before his arrest. He had sworn to himself that Hannibal would never know about her and yet there was no not seeing how Hannibal froze at the sight of the little girl so alike his sister when the worse did happen.

**Warnings:** Mpreg and threat to a minor? A small OC? I don't know I just need sleep tbh. Sorry about all mistakes.

* * *

Death comes in stages, leaving those trapped within its grip shifting between them as elegantly as a dying swan- holding a grace that it never could contain before and that it will never get a chance to recapture.

It varies with the individual, it varies with what it is that is slowly sucking the life out of them and it varies with the simple matter of if they truly want to keep living.

Nothing ever remains the same for any two people yet the basic steps are in many ways familiar to us all, lingering throughout our lives like the bitter aftertaste of something yet to come, underlying every little thing if only to add a pinch of torturous foreshadowing into our pitifully blind lives. It comes in stages, stages that for the lucky ones are taken in easy big steps and for others all too many little steps, trying to fight their way back down.

(Out of the two it may be difficult to know who is deserving of pity: the one with such a hollow life they have nothing to fight for or the one who fights only to lose whatever was worth living for.)

Dying is anything but easy, panic rolling in as though being set on fire from the inside, every flame biting away at every part of what makes you you before even trying to actually give you an escape. It is in the panic that varying reasons to live are present, making each heartbeat ten times more painful. It is the panic that makes each blow from a racing heart feel as though a rib is being removed to the point feeling the pain becomes a relief in comparison to how shockingly loud the echoes of a fading heart can be in one little person's mind.

Silence leaves along with the capability of thinking straight, teeth grazing over a bottom lip in an attempt to ground themselves.

Death is anything but easy because as you can feel your very heart slowing down in your chest each beat feels like a hit until crippled fingers are desperately trying to move enough to grip onto life, the blood seeping from them adding as an extra difficulty, helping everything they reach for slipping away and everything you try to push away slamming into you with all the force you wish you still had.

Life is hard and yet so is death, strong enough to take even the strongest man.

Strong enough to make anyone soon wish it was simply over, panicked breaths causing a heavy chest to rise and fall at the same rate as a racing train, desperately trying to slow down…

But sometimes, just sometimes, death does not take all of you. Death does not take enough of you and as such leaves nothing but a hollow shell, half dangling from life and half begging anyone listening to give them enough to courage to let go, to let them finally just sleep and not be haunted by the lingering cold marks left by timeless fingers.

Fingers that will come for everyone, caressing like a lover and teasing the life out of your eyes like a thief in the night.

His fingers though, clung to the sink of water as though clinging for his life- as though the cheap porcelain was the only thing reminding him to breath as sharp broken breaths of air left his parted lips. It is all too easy to state that he, in that one moment and in years to come, could be the perfect example that death does not have to be a physical event to leave someone completely and utterly hollow.

Once glistening blue eyes were hollow as they looked over the mirror opposite him, tracing over the lifeless face looking back at him. Human emotions affect all of us but considering what they do to an empath is like asking what a match can do to a river of pure gasoline. Distancing himself had been a survival mechanism he had adapted very early on in his life, unable to cope with the constant duress of falling into other people's emotions rather than his own… the constant torture of seeing the very worst in any person he accidentally made eye contact with, always seeing the very worst and struggling with keeping a grip on who he was.

Working as a cop- helping the FBI- had only gotten him in the situation where he was expected all the more to get lost in the minds of those who had already lost any good that had once been inside of them.

In such a position it was easy enough to forget that there was any good left in a society (in a 'humanity') that was so capable of doing what should have been unthinkable.

It had worked for years, keeping himself as far away as he could from his own feelings. Keeping himself surrounded with the beaten and abandoned dogs he could relate with with so much ease it was almost pitiful. It had worked, it had kept him alive. And yet still, like everything else, a single faltering had left him in a position where there was no going back.

There was no fixing his situation because everything was broken so beyond belief it made him wish he had any strength left to shed more tears.

William had, in the end, gotten to the point of such horrible loneliness that he had fallen into the trap of trusting the first person who truly did try to get past his wonderfully built glass defences. He let the cobra in with the belief that he could always keep control of the situation despite the fact that even the strongest mongoose can be slaughtered with a well-placed knife.

Hannibal had in all fairness played his cards perfectly, managing to capture both Will's mind and heart. He had manipulated Will until even a man so painted with issues that he'd stopped looking at his reflection long before he'd stopped looking at the eyes of others believe that Hannibal truly did feel something for him. Even Will had fallen for the lies, fallen for Hannibal's mask rather than realising the man he was hunting was the same man lying next to him every night.

The one person he allowed himself to be the most vulnerable around was the same one who was slowly driving him insane with beautifully posed corpses, metaphorical ribbons keeping them together.

For a few fragile months it had appeared as though everything was actually going well, Will finding himself for the first time in his life actually able to be happy despite what he was being made to see more and more regularly.

For once he had actually found himself content to the point his nightmares had calmed down, curling against his lover and keeping them both oddly calm, warm skin pressed against slightly colder skin, fitting together with a comfort Will had never really known before and just the memory of that caused his grip on the sink to tighten again, eyes shutting as he desperately tried to cling onto his control.

Happiness was something that had never lasted long in his life and barely a week before Hannibal's arrest he had thought he had lost it simply with the sight of the test reading 'positive'. Ironic how only seven days (eight, his brain corrected in a monotone whisper) earlier his worst worry had been how Hannibal would react to the knowledge that somewhere along the line something had been messed up.

Will was broken enough to know he was never going to be the type to be a father. He barely kept himself alive with his dogs and more recently Hannibal to keep him going. He barely kept himself going and yet as he subconsciously rested a hand on his stomach, taste of bile bitter in his mouth, he was in no denial he had choices to make.

It was penetratingly ironic how he'd never gotten the courage to tell Hannibal, scared that the other would leave in a heartbeat at the idea of them having to move from the half-casual thing they had going to possibly bringing a child into the world. A child that at the time Will believed neither of them had ever really considered.

Just over a week later and Will severely doubted that Hannibal would have hesitated in killing him there and then if he'd gotten the courage to tell him straight away rather than waiting and trying to work out what he was going to do. How he was going to deal with the turn in events.

Some people were never meant to be happy just like some people were never meant to be parents. It was just a shame he seemed to fall into both categories, the still almost invisible curve of his stomach hidden by a large shirt and the shaking of his hands hidden by how firmly he was gripping the sink and resting on one on his shirt.

Working out how he could still feel anything but utter hatred for such a monster seemed like an impossible task as he finally moved to splash some of the water onto his face, needing to think yet unable to hear anything but the pulsing of his heart between his ears.

Hannibal was the killer they had been hunting for so long, the killer who had literally been feeding them his kills.

(A thought that almost made Will return to the toilets to empty what was left of his guts.)

Hannibal was a sadist, cruel and drawing out his kills for his own amusement.

He'd almost gotten Abigail killed.

And yet he was at least half responsible for the small thing growing inside of Will, not quite a baby and yet still part of him. Hannibal had been there when Will had fallen apart, he had been the one to keep him sane when he got too close to shattering once and for all.

(Hannibal had been the one to cause the agony keeping him up at night, face hidden against the other's neck as though hoping that he had finally found somewhere he could be safe from his own mind.)

Of all the things Hannibal was or wasn't, there was no doubt he was never going to be a father. Perhaps it was out of pure selfishness and perhaps it was out of desperation that Will let himself admit that if he was going to go through with even considering keeping the child with him it meant leaving everything behind.

It would mean having to leave behind everything he had spent the last years of his life building in exchange for a future as unclear as what of his time with Hannibal had been real.

"Will." Jack's voice wasn't all that much of a surprise, entering the public bathroom with hesitation, clearly all too pleased they had gotten the man they had hunted and yet unhappy he couldn't ignore how much damage had been done to his preferred weapon. When the silence between them lingered too long he forced himself to speak again, kindness all too forced. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not." His reply was hissed as sharp as a knife, beyond the point of acting like the submissive puppy he'd been treated like for far too long. "You got what you wanted, casualties were bound to happen. Hannibal… Doctor Lecter was right, you've been training me to work it out for a very long time now."

Doctor Lecter was distant enough for him to pretend it wasn't the same person who had once shared his bed. Yet despite all of Jack's efforts to groom Will into the criminal chaser he wanted so badly, it hadn't even been him that had finished the chase.

Jack seemed to pause, eyes moving over the mess of a man before him as though trying to read what was the right thing to say, what was the right lie to say to soothe the situation. Instead he stayed silent, walking closer without ever moving too close. "You handed in a letter of resignation."

"Acting immediately." A nod as the empath kept his gaze of the water slowly draining from the sink, finding the ripples easier to concentrate on than anything else. For someone so clearly broken even he had no idea why he was suddenly so set on keeping the child even after it was to be born. Keeping it despite the fact he'd never met a life he hadn't been able to mess up. "I'm leaving teaching and aiding the FBI completely."

He'd never fully thought he'd be able to cut off all ties, he'd never truly thought he'd make it on his own. The few good things in his life- the chance to use what was more a curse than anything to try to do a little good- had all seemed related to his work, dogs and Hannibal for a very long time. Losing two of them in one go could very possibly destroy him.

It only took one too many pieces of straw to break the camel's back. How many losses could Will's mind take before shattering a little too much beyond repair?

"Don't do anything impulsive." Jack tried to protest, sounding hopeless to changing Will's mind even to his own ears. "You've already lost a lot, don't do something you can't take back…"

More manipulation, more emotional blackmail. Will's jaw tensed as his sharp gaze moved to the other's hands, dangling aimlessly by his sides. "Don't." A simple complaint but perhaps it really was all he had left in him. "Don't you dare lecture me on my life. I have had enough of people trying to make me into what weapons they want me. Doctor Lecter using me to get to you and you trying to use me to get to him." He had given so much of himself to them and yet now he could see clearer than ever quite how badly he'd been used. "You've got him. You've gotten exactly what you wanted."

"Not how I would have wanted to though." If it had been any other time, perhaps Will would have wanted to listen to the other's words yet he was beyond listening. He was beyond pretending that everything was okay. Jack spoke and the only difference it made was causing Will to tense further. "I never wished for any harm to come to you."

"Perhaps. But you see it as a price worth paying." His fingers knotted in his curls as Will shut his eyes, focusing on keeping himself calm. Showing quite how broken he felt wasn't going to help him. It would only mean he too would have to view how the cracks made had started spreading far beyond his control. "I'm staying until the court case and not a day longer."

He'd stay to watch the one person he had loved beyond belief be sentenced for what he had done and then he would simply fade back into the distance. Back away from the life he no longer wanted to be a part of.

Finally he moved to walk past the other, eyes focused on the wall nearest to the exit and face immaculately composed with such art a sicker part of his mind was certain Hannibal would be proud of what he could possibly become.

"If you leave you won't have anyone. You know that, don't you?" It wasn't a cruel comment yet it was true, causing Will to bitterly pause with his back to the man he had once considered his boss. One of few people whose wellbeing had mattered to him.

Will swallowed, urging himself to walk away.

To say nothing.

And yet that didn't stop his lips from moving and tired words to leave him with quickly fading heat. "I will have myself, my dogs and in a few months I'll have my child." It was common enough for men to become pregnant for it not to be much of a shock, nobody yet having worked out what rare gene it was that was triggered in certain individuals. Nobody yet knowing what it was that made some capable of bringing life into the world when not all women were able. Struggling to keep himself steady he moved to look at Jack again, daring a glance at his face. "A child who will never know who its other father is. It will never know of my past or any of this hell."

He would keep his baby safe if it killed him, he knew that much already.

The look on Jack's expression seemed one of half horror and half shock, suddenly at a loss of clever twists to try and get Will to stay. Suddenly understanding why it was that Will's eyes seemed a little more dead, a little more lifeless and far less expressive than they had been all too long ago.

"So I'm walking away." He added softly, shaking his head at any protests possibly to come. "I've lost everything to help you. I have given everything I had to give so don't pretend you want me to stay for my benefit Jack."

Leaving would at least give Will a chance to try to have a bit of a normal life.

"I'm sorry." Empty words hours too late, too late to aid Will in any way and too late to make the slightest bit of distance to the mostly dead man whose hands still lingered on his stomach without even noticing as though drawing some form of strength from it. As though remembering that he wasn't just thinking for himself was stopping him from listening to the words Jack had to offer. "I'm so sorry."

Will's reply was punctuated with a sad smile. "No, you're not."

Leaving without a second glance may have been one of the more difficult moments of his life, stopping himself from so much as wanting anyone's approval.

He'd never fully thought he'd be able to cut off all ties, he'd never truly thought he'd make it on his own and he still didn't. But at least he wasn't really on his own for once.

Perhaps it was selfish to consider bringing the child up himself when he himself could offer nothing that anyone needed to grow up to be a healthy human being.

Yet it was the thought of having to be strong for someone else that was keeping him at least somewhat alive.

…

The nightmares wouldn't go away no matter how much he tried, filling his nights with rivers of red and the sound of a child crying too far away from him to reach.

His nightmares filled his nights with the image of Hannibal's hands wrapped around his neck.

…

He'd come close to telling Hannibal it was almost pitiful.

It was a week to the final part of the trial and the last of his move had been planned, his life packed into a stupidly few number of boxes. Everything packed and his dogs in a kennel for the time being until the very last of the papers were signed for his new residence. The house that had once been his home was sold easily and he had enough savings stashed away to make it possible to get everything done quickly.

Jack, whilst silently, had ensured that when Will did leave he could disappear for good. The contacts he had would aid and it seemed as though the little part of him that hadn't been poisoned by the hunt and losing Bella needed to appease what guilt there was by helping Will get away from what had caused the horrible lines under his eyes.

The pregnancy was already proving itself to be a horrific one, Will barely getting any sleep between his bouts of sickness, barely able to eat a mouthful before it came rushing back up. Even with the struggle to keep what weight he had on actually on him his stomach had started to show a slight curve to it, growing to offer more room the foetus to develop further.

What little colour had once dared to be found in his wardrobe seemed to have faded away, his jumpers baggy and dark in contrast to his increasingly pale skin, curls aimlessly falling onto his forehead as his head remained lowered, hiding the showing damage from everyone around him. Or at least, the few who still dared to look.

He had, from the start, planned to simply leave when he found out what was to happen to Hannibal. He had wanted to know before running.

Yet he was finding himself slowly being led to the man's cell seven days prior to that date.

The little sleep he had managed to get was too haunted with questions for him to ever stop his head, unable to take his usual number of pills in fear of harming the only family he had. Keeping himself healthy had become a necessity again rather than how easy it had become when staying all too often with Hannibal.

His hands remained buried in his pockets as he ignored the man talking at him about safety measures, instead painfully aware on how such a place would likely drive Hannibal all the more insane. It could quite possibly be all the worse than any torture he could have provided because Hannibal whose independence meant everything to him. Locked into such a tiny half glass room would only make him like a cornered predator- patiently waiting for a chance to pounce and get his own back to those who kept him confined.

If, when, such a day was to come Will truly wished he'd be nowhere near the even, already imagining what the scale of the bloodshed would be like. It would be certainly be enough to feed plenty of Hannibal's elegantly twisted dinner parties, meat fresh and still withering on the plates.

There was no hiding the shiver that ran through him at the thought. How long would it take? A week, a year or more? It was likely to happen sooner or later- Hannibal was never going to be the type to lie back and take to being in a cage. A hunter was always going to be a hunter once it was in his or her nature.

Will knew that better than most and as such understood least of all why he had asked to get a single, private meeting with Hannibal. A single meeting to at least have some form of an answer to the horrors making him wish he truly was past feeling anything.

"I wondered when you'd turn up."

Seeing Hannibal outside his natural habitat was strangely disconcerting, causing Will to hesitate as he looked over the man he had believed he knew. Trapped, stripped of his layers and suits and lies yet still almost completely in charge of the situation, still one of the most powerful men Will had ever set eyes on.

Still nothing like the man he had fallen in love with and yet absolutely everything he remembered.

Speaking suddenly seemed impossible as his blue eyes flickered around the cell Hannibal had been placed in, never more glad for a barrier than he was for the one between them.

Leaning back on the hospital like bed Hannibal held himself with the same composure as always, not having to move a millimetre to remind Will of who he was, of what he had done. Of how blind Will had been to not pick up on it before.

"You do look a mess, can't even look after yourself when I'm barely away?" Hannibal pushed himself up with a raised eyebrow, eyes scanning over Will in such a manner even Will could not fully label, so frozen in place he could not have been more grateful for the layers covering him. "You appear half dead."

Half-dead. Funny how accurate that was. When Will spoke it was in a soft tone, not cold but simply hollow. "Well, I recently found out the man I was sleeping with was also the serial killer I was chasing. I'm sure you can see how such an event can be stressful enough for me to not look my best."

Sharpness and sarcasm, the coping mechanisms he had had long before Hannibal and the same ones he would have for a long time to come.

Hannibal's lips curved without the slightest hint of emotion and Will couldn't help but tell himself what a stupid idea visiting had been. It still seemed necessary but certainly not his cleverest choice.

The part that still adored Hannibal begged him to tell him, to see what the reaction could be.

The part of him who understood monsters all too well told him to take himself and his baby and just to run to any safety he could find.

"I wanted to speak to you." Will managed to say, struggling more than he had ever thought possible. Like a child standing up to a bully twice his size there seemed to be no safe place to go, no easy way to walk out of view. He'd stepped into the light and that had been his decision. "I wanted to ask you a question."

How would Hannibal have reacted if he'd known about Will's situation?

How would he have reacted if he'd known that just like Will he had set the ball in motion for them to have a family again?

"Then do get to it, you always did have the tendency to ramble. Never very eloquent." Unlike Hannibal's soft manner with Will before being revealed he suddenly seemed as though baiting a stranger, pulling different strings to see what they would do. No interest in the other but rather only seeing him as one of the many 'meat sources' he despised so much. In truth, it hurt more than Will could have imagined and more than he would ever openly admit to.

Will's pause lingered a little too long before Hannibal's annoyed sigh caused him to finally be able to form coherent sentences again. "I want to know why you didn't kill me."

It would help him understand.

Even if he didn't get a reply the part of him he labelled as 'deluded' was begging for he would still be grateful that he finally had an idea of what the other said even if it wasn't the truth.

He would accept any answer given to him by Hannibal because he was so utterly desperate to just be able to not think.

Hannibal gave a disappointed smirk and his heart sank, watching how the man got up from the bed to walk as near as he could before there was no way nearer.

"Why didn't I slit your throat a long time ago, you mean?" Hannibal all but purred, tone as smooth as honey and yet as poisonous as the cold look in his eyes. "Oh William, William, William. For someone so clever you really don't see much do you?" Will's gaze remained on the smudge of paint on the floor, listening with all the strength he had left. "Why do you think I let you survive this long? Preferring you in my bed rather than on a dish?"

There was no way to answer such a thing without venturing into Hannibal's mind and even Will doubted he'd be able to do such a thing.

"Because I was more useful to you alive, I'd assume. Were you planning to use me someday to provoke Jack further?" It was safe to assume that like everyone else Hannibal had seen him as a pawn. It was safe to assume he was alive simply because it had been easier but that didn't explain why Hannibal would put so much effort into making him trust him. Why he'd put so much effort into getting Will to open up fully. "No. You'd have simply killed me if that was all you were doing."

A smirk, Hannibal somehow managing to seem all the crueller. "Then if you can't work it out, it's hardly worth telling you. It is not as though you were much effort- so desperate for someone to want you as more than a toy you were willing to become like one of your strays. Hunting for someone to finally want you despite the upcoming speeding car."

Will's eyes briefly flickered to Hannibal's and yet when he found them as empty as his own leaving was the only thing that he could do. It was the one thing he had no choice but to do.

He shook his head, finally stepping back. "For all your tricks it's still you in the cage, Doctor Lecter. Whatever games you were playing, I hope they were worth it." Glancing to the guard visible only metres away he soon looked back at Hannibal. "This is my one and only visit. I won't come again."

"Will you not?" It was Hannibal who seemed slightly smug, disbelieving of Will's promise despite how the younger man's features showed he himself believed the words fully. Hannibal was never to know about Will's child because that was what it was: Will's. "How unlike you."

"Goodbye Doctor Lecter." Will muttered softly, turning to walk away, glad that trapping his hands under his arms, crossed almost painfully tightly, was stopping him from doing anything that would give him away. "I hope it was worth it."

Fifteen steps down the hall he hear Hannibal's reply, bitter and cold and enough to make him keep walking: "I would have gutted you. Perhaps cooked your heart after draining you."

The other never had to raise his voice just like Will never had to increase his pace, neither seeing everything important.

Hannibal did not see how Will instinctively moved his hand to his stomach and Will did not see the pained look in the killer's eyes that last a painfully long moment.

….

Within three days Will's house stood empty of any life, the man long gone and the remnants of his past long since cleared away.

…

The nightmares of the knife slicing him away until there was nothing but red, red, red lasted until long since after he was told he was expecting a perfectly healthy little girl.

…

Rose. He settled on Rose as Will sat on his bed one night, fingers tracing over the all too obvious curve of his stomach, still shaking from the night terrors that woke both himself and his dogs. He settled on the name Rose as he considered how strong she would have to be to survive in such a world.

He settled on Rose because she was his beautiful little reason for still trying and she would have to be surround herself with towers of thorns to remain sane for long.

…

She was born on the thirty-first of May, early but beautiful, tiny fingers moving on Will's cheek when he finally got to hold her and sleepy eyes barely open as she tried to work out what all the noises suddenly around her were.

And ironically it was in that moment that for the first time in years Will wept, uncertain if it was due to the joy of not being alone for the first time since walking away from his past or if it was simply because looking back up at him were the eyes he had truly wished he'd never see again anywhere but in his nightmares.

Because even his barely born daughter was looking up at him with Hannibal's eyes back when pretending to be someone he wasn't.

Back when he was pretending Will meant anything to him.

…

Adding Misha as a middle name had been a last minute decision, based on things he had read about Hannibal's past after his arrest.

He may have hated Hannibal for all the harm he had done yet he loved him for giving him the all too fragile baby in his arms.

He hated him for how he still couldn't close his eyes without wishing he was there to help understand how to be a father and he was so grateful for the games that had been played because it had given him the most precious thing in his life.

He added the middle name Misha as a silent thank you for the one good thing Hannibal had done.

He'd destroyed Will but he'd also given him a reason to keep going a little longer.

….

She took her first steps on a Sunday, wearing a little blue dress Will had gotten her and looking up at his camera with a curiously sharp gaze, brown locks falling on her face as she concentrated on not falling.

She took her first steps towards her 'dadda' and yet that night, like every other night, Will could only bring himself to sleep on the left side of his bed after checking on her for the fifth time since putting her down into her little cot, bedroom one he had spent a great deal of his pregnancy decorating in an effort to have something to do.

The picture he took became one of the many in their home, all of them of his family and the dogs he had at the time- many less than he had once had but still enough that even Rose could never feel alone in all her pampered little ways.

If she so happened to cry out in the night, Will was all too grateful to have a lie to tell himself as to why he couldn't sleep.

…

The nightmares became simply wishing the other half of the bed wasn't empty, that there was someone else there to be with him as he continuously tried to not focus on how even the noise in his home was hollow in comparison to how it had once been.

It was on Rose's third birthday that he first dreamt that Hannibal had been there with him, that the bed wasn't cold at night and that just for once he didn't have to hum to himself to hear another human voice for more than a few minutes.

Later he laughed to himself about how stupid dreams could be.

…

It was funny how easy escaping had been in the end, Will's 'visit' renewing his energy and slightly changing his plans. It had, after all, been years since he had seen the young genius- the man whom only years earlier he'd been sharing a bed with.

William had been his greatest project, manipulated by both Hannibal's hands and tongue with surprisingly little effort, falling for the lies with such a tender desperation that even the killer found his touches slightly gentler when it came to the other. Never quite completely breaking the mind that he knew would someday be the one to work him out.

He had shown Will weakness in not killing him instantly, in not gutting him like a fish when he could have.

He had shown weakness in giving Will a chance to injure him back, in not predicting exactly what the other was going to because he was too busy lingering in a thousand other thoughts… a thousand and one thoughts and none of them the usual pleasure that would come along with managing to finish a good hunt after so much effort to get the prey where he wanted.

With such a foolish mistake Hannibal had gotten himself caught, locked away like some form of rabid beast rather than being free to continue his work. With his mistake he had shot himself in the foot, all because some part of him had foolishly stopped him from preventing a problem from ever arising. It would have been all too easy to actually kill William, it would have been something he should have been able to do in less than a heartbeat, never feeling glad when Will came back home from varying levels of horrific murders.

When even his reactions had betrayed him it had left him with a chip in his armour, a chip in his otherwise immaculate armour. A chip he had tried to correct far too late, calling words out intended to cut as deep as he could get them to, knowing exactly what would keep Will up at night. He had taken the time to learn the other's weaknesses after all, why should he not exploit it in the last change he might get to make some longstanding damage?

Another faltering had been his ego, part of him almost surprised the Will did not visit again until Jack asked him to, years later and thousands of silent hours between them. It had been a faltering in his ego that despite the distinct tired loneliness that laced Will's face and eyes as he took a seat outside of the cell, never meeting Hannibal's eyes yet holding himself with a certainty that he had never achieved in his time with the killer.

He was lost but that didn't mean that he hadn't found something that made his life worth living.

Will was broken but still somehow kept together, not too thin and what almost seemed like pink paint decorating the very end of his sleeve. Smudged as though he'd briefly struggled to remove it yet still had surrendered, dog fur barely noticeable on his trouser legs and a sticker on the bottom of his shoe, a sparkling corner visible on its side.

A little frog, Hannibal would guess from what part was visible to him, knowing with the rudimentary design children's stickers used it would likely be the most obvious option. It was only after the thought had occurred to him that Hannibal paused, surprise only briefly moving over his features. So despite the damage he had left Will, the blows he had carefully stricken clearly having been fixed at one point or another for Will to willingly be around a child. A child that was unlikely to not be William's if he willingly did spend enough time with it (her?) to have so many little clues in regards to it decorating him.

The man who had been his one, little weakness had managed to fix himself enough to make a little family even if there was no ring on his finger. William had managed to move on enough to look better despite the lifelessness in his eyes than he had last Hannibal had seen him. He looked better whilst Hannibal looked far less maintained than he had yet still having kept himself somehow fit, strong in his controlled stance.

Strong in his resolution to take in every detail of the other man, down to how much softer his voice was when he got lost in thought, as though having taught himself how to come across as completely non-threatening without having to be too open. Hannibal's presence alone had managed to help him close up like a flower in winter, trying to shield from the too sharp cold but having nowhere warm to retreat to.

Hannibal didn't utter a word on the matter, simply watching and speaking well aimed words when it became necessary. Time had not made him any less eloquent and it had certainly allowed his gaze to sharpen, no longer not shrugging off small details as insignificant. Time had not been all that kind to his patience, wearing it down as he continued to wait for an opportunity to come along.

As he waited for a chance to get out of the god forsaken cell and to get back to those who had locked him up. Those who had worked out where he had slipped up- just once.

Escaping had been easy in the end because Hannibal was clever, knowing exactly how to fake everything he needed to without ever putting all that much effort into it. Every lie was a masterpiece and every lie made things easier for him.

Crawford had served Will on a platter to him before and it had resulted in him almost being torn to shreds simply by losing Hannibal. The man was no fool, he remembered all too vividly Will's face when he had first visited, vulnerable and angry and scared and so torn it had caused him to look like a still fresh corpse, only rotting from the inside outwards as the maggots filling his mind tried desperately to get through him and out onto the outside world.

When he had finally escaped he had taken his time already to have everything in motion, finding it all too easy to find out where William now lived without having to leave a single clue as to where he was going. Or at least, he left no clue in regards to the true location he was aiming for, having briefly considered leaking Will's location and letting another more brutal killer to go after him…

Yet it had never seemed right to let Will die by anyone's hands but his own. He wanted to see what William had managed to build for himself before he smashed it down- he wanted to see what Will's little girl looked like before he took her from the once FBI teacher.

It was sadly ironic that in no part of his mind did he deny that there was a slight shading of envy to how things were. He half envied that Will had been able to find some form of normality, that the one person Hannibal had been able to sympathise with enough to consider a friend wasn't too broken to bring life into the world.

(Unlike Hannibal, who had once been a carrier, who had once been biologically able to carry a child himself if he so wanted.)

(They had certainly taken that from him years earlier.)

Soon after returning himself to his more pristine level of appearance in more casual clothing Hannibal got on with his journey, the location he'd been told a good few hours drive meaning that he would get there very early morning if he was lucky with events. If he was lucky with events then he would get there long before anyone could work out where he was going as a first stop having gotten freedom.

If things had been different getting to the man would not have been a priority, it would have been much lower down on his 'to do' list than it was rather than right at the top.

But things were as they were, Hannibal wanting nothing more than to play one of their old games before Will even had a chance to pull away, to save himself and anything (anyone) he held dear. What was the use of allowing a man to build his castle if nobody was going to come along and test how strong the substructure was?

Fair or not it did not matter to Hannibal, such things had never really mattered and even if they had it would have been something long since lost in his time in the cells.

An insane man can be seen as dangerously aware at the best of times but having been given years to linger in his hatred and having been stripped of his mask had done wonders about all he cared about subtlety.

His first visit was always going to be William Graham, the only surprise was that it had taken him so long to work it out.

…

Rose would often have nightmares, waking in sweats and screams as her father once had, messy curls sticking to her little features like a second skin. Of what the five year old saw in her terrors changed regularly yet the routine was one Will had long since gotten used to, up just before with enough time to warm her a glass of milk and to prepare himself to offer a reassuring smile.

Preparing himself to lie to his clever little girl and tell her that no, he promised monsters weren't real but even if they were the dogs and her toys would keep her safe.

He would check under the bed and in the closet so he could prove that there was nothing there, turning the nightlight up a bit so she could see the corners of the room were empty too.

Once her breathing was back to normal Will would sit next to her on her little bed, allowing the little girl to crawl to his side seeking comfort, seeking some safety from the monsters that had already started to seep into her mind like an inherited poison, a disease of the mind that could never be left behind no matter how hard they tried. It could take anywhere from minutes to hours for Will to get her to go back into bed, always calm and soothing despite the growing pain of self-loathing that constantly reminded him that if she had been lucky enough to have anyone but him for a father it was likely she would have never had to deal with the things she had to.

If she had been born into a normal, loving family formed of more than dogs and an insane, broken and battered man perhaps she wouldn't need her face drying by his tender palm, skin roughened by work and life- horribly hard he imagined in comparison to how soft her skin still was.

"Do you have nightmares, daddy?" Rose Misha Graham would sometimes ask, already half asleep again, curled against her father as he sat at the top of her bed, stroking a hand through her curls, soothing her with light hums and waiting for the usual sleepy words to leave her.

"I do." His reply was low, tender. Loving beyond anything he had ever thought himself capable of and so desperate to keep her safe he himself still struggled to believe it. "Everyone does, those who say they don't are liars."

She was too clever, she always had been. She took after Hannibal with that and she took after Will with how easily she could read people. Clever and empathic, all the makings of someone wonderful or someone that would be told in history books as a horror story. It was hard to tell but as he kissed her forehead, there was never any denying that he would love her no matter which parent she took after.

If she was to kill then it would break his heart, but it would not stop his adoration of her.

If she didn't kill then it would be a relief because maybe she'd be a little safer.

"If everyone has them why do people lie?"

"Because people are odd creatures." Will laughed lowly and softly in her hair, glad that she was still too small to recognise how hollow the sound was. He had to offer but that did not mean he had much left inside of him for anyone else. "And often they lie because admitting they're like everyone else frightens them."

She shifted, eyes shutting as she slipped a little closer to sleep again, one hand knotting in the material of his all too large shirt. Will paused to take in her face as he waited, smile faltering as he looked away. It hurt, every single time someone pointed out how little she looked like him it hurt simply because he could never answer her any honest answers about who she was by blood. He could offer her no honest answers as to who her other father was.

"Remember why you're called Rose after all, little mouse." He spoke again, voice soft and lingering as he let her find her way back to what would hopefully be more peaceful dreams. It was hard to tell what nights would be the bad ones (sometimes waking them both over six times) and which ones would be the good ones (only once or twice). For her sake he hoped to the silence surrounding them that it would be a rare good night. "Because Roses are beautiful and strong, tender in their own way…"

"But always protected." Rose finished simply, having heard his little speech a hundred times and knowing the words that defined her so well with ease. She knew why she was named as she was, she knew that her father wanted to keep her safe and she most certainly knew that whenever she needed him he would be there. What else was there to know? "I love you daddy."

Since a month into knowing he was pregnant part of Will had loved her and with time that had only increased, Rose being one of very few people in his life for longer than necessary, Will often taking late evening shifts at different little jobs (asking a neighbour to let her play over with one of their daughters) to keep money in the bank and to keep himself always involved in her life without making her deal with her nightmares alone.

He, more than anyone, knew how bad they could be when not tended to.

By the time she was finally asleep, milk half-drunk and her teddy tucked back into her bed Will would be long since past being able to going back to sleep. Instead he would follow his routine, doing online work for most of the night to minimalize how many interactions he had with those around him. Rose had plenty of friends and to them and their parents Will simply seemed a little shy, not showing enough of himself to seem anything else.

Of all the things wanted, he wanted Rose happy and not bullied for her father being a nutjob.

But unlike usual nights, once she was safely tucked into her bed the voice speaking to him in a voice he still feared all too much did not come from his mind but from behind him at the door. "She's beautiful."

…

She was, perhaps, the most beautiful being Hannibal had ever seen.

Hannibal faltered at the sight of the picture placed so proudly on the fireplace, the picture placed proudly in the prime position, shining in the dim light and the lines seeming all the more emphasised by how the shadows danced across it. But even those long lines formed of shadows didn't seem enough to damage the face shown so clearly, bright eyes looking at the camera as curls so alike Will's framed her round little face.

A healthy roundness, he noted to himself as he stepped away from the stairs and towards the image that had caught his eyes. One of many pictures around the room- almost all of them of the little girl and very, very few having Will in them with her.

He had, of course, done his research before going directly to Will's home. He had looked up things on the computer of a man he had killed on the way and he had hidden all clues as to it after he had, reading of Will's 'retirement' and sudden disappearance, leaving just before the court case without leaving the media the smallest clue as to where he had gone. Not even the smallest clue to those he had once worked with.

It hadn't been part of the plan to linger to look at pictures, planning to simply see the real thing himself when he worked out the best way to use her presence to harm Will and yet… and yet he couldn't look away, slowly picking up the frame with a hesitant slowness, recognising all too well the structure of her small face, the colour of her bright eyes… She was the image of her, the image of his Misha and the beautiful image of life at the same time. So real it was hard to not think she was an hallucination caused by drugs because for the first time in seeing Misha after her death she did not seem as though she was straight out of a horror film.

Hannibal, the man of masks and lies and games, could not move as his thumb moved over the picture, realising in a sudden bolt of comprehension that the similarities were by no accident, small face formed of all the best mixes of him and William. She was formed of all the best bits of them, taking so much after his sister he almost wished he was the sort of man who could allow himself to weep freely. He half wished he could allow himself to cry as he looked over the girl's face because at least tears would be better to deal with than what was rushing thought him.

He was a man of careful words and clever thoughts, not of such horrific mixes of pure emotions.

(Horror, surprise, fear, affection and almost defencelessness moved through him with one strong and easy blow.)

From the other pictures it was clear that age wise it certainly fitted if she was his despite how much she did or did not look like Misha once had.

At least it made sense why the idea of Hannibal gutting him had caused more of a reaction than the promise of cooking his heart- what pregnant individual could cope with such imagery without feeling at least a little queasy.

Hannibal himself had never considered fatherhood, he had never considered to what extent he would ever want a family. Even when with Will he had forced himself to remember that all links were temporary, that nothing would last all that long so growing accustomed to it wasn't going to aid him.

A child, on the other hand, was more of a tie than he had ever considered.

He didn't even know her name, Hannibal realised as he moved to look at a picture of Will with her, seeing with ease how much the other man had fallen for the life of being a father, of having someone to protect, of having someone to actually love him back.

Things had never been easy in William's life but having a child from someone who had soon become a notorious serial killer must have been the bitter cherry on top. The last straw on the camel's back before it had to drag itself the rest of the way to complete its task.

The small girl was very possibly the most beautiful thing Hannibal had ever seen; up in the top ones along with the first time he'd enjoyed a kill, the first time William had admitted to having feelings for him and more than how his victims would scream when he really did take his time with them.

Finally putting the picture down he swallowed, plans changing all too quickly to keep track and yet always slow enough for him to be fully in control, stepping up the stairs of Will's old little home without a single noise, narrowly avoiding any creaking steps and finding himself grateful Will's dogs seemed to still be sleeping. It was only when he reacted the top of the stairs that he did falter again, hearing Will's soft voice being met by a little one. The voice he still wouldn't admit he had missed met with the voice he suddenly wanted to know far more about.

With Misha he had lost the last vital part of his humanity, fighting against the grips of those holding him still to get to hear until longer after the axe had sung a final time, taking the last of his family away from him. He had mostly died with her the day she had been taken away to 'play'. Yet as he looked through the small open space of the door it was evident that he wouldn't be able to simply walk away or kill the child wearing his sister's face.

_Rose._

A pretty name for someone so vulnerable she looked, the pale blue light of the bedroom lamp tracing over her sleeping features as he watched William pause to give her a final light kiss.

"She's beautiful."

He smirked at how Will jumped, spinning to face him with horror evident on his features, the sight of the cannibal making his heart almost come to a halt there and then, instinct making himself step between the man and his daughter, as though he stood a chance at stopping Hannibal if he did decide to hurt either of them.

When Hannibal indicated for him to step out of the room he did so after the other, a tight hand around his wrist the only thing keeping him moving.

Every nightmare he'd had on his bad days seemed to come true at once and God did Will look terrified, eyes always returning to her bedroom door, desperate to protect her from the monster clawing back into their lives.

The monster he still wasn't all that certain he hadn't at least somewhat missed.

…


End file.
